


Anyway

by MermaidMarie



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Episode: s04e13 No Better To Be Safe Than Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 16:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMarie/pseuds/MermaidMarie
Summary: In which Eliot and Julia have a conversation.





	Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "Anyway" from Tales from the Bad Years, by Kerrigan & Lowdermilk.  
> I was pretty sure I was never going to write anything canon compliant, but here we are.

_I feel like I’m underwater._  
_Like the whole world is underwater._  
_Like I’m screaming out underwater._  
_I feel like I’m underwater these days._  
_Anyways._

~

The party was…

Well. It was a party, wasn’t it? Loud and crowded and full of smoke. The music felt louder than usual, though that might have been the migraine building behind Eliot’s eyes. He hung by the bar, refilling the punch and making inane small talk.

The conversations were so boring that he was practically tuning them out. He couldn’t remember anyone’s name seconds after they introduced themselves.

Whatever. Honestly, he could not _possibly_ care less about any of this.

It was all pointless, meaningless chatter, distractions and smoke and mirrors. Bambi, bless her soul, wanted to cheer everyone up. Or, if not cheer everyone up, at least get them drunk enough so they would—well, forget, maybe.

But Eliot was not in any position to forget or deny or push away.

Quentin was all he thought about these days.

Going back to Brakebills, well, might have been a mistake, honestly.

They wanted their degrees or whatever, but every corner and tree and door reminded Eliot of Q. He was surrounded by it. Drowning in it. It was _staggering,_ how difficult it was to do the simplest things. Getting up in the morning and making coffee was an ordeal.

It felt like a miracle that Eliot could button up his shirts and style his hair, honestly, but those were necessities. He couldn’t very well leave the house if he hadn’t put on his armor.

He, frankly, didn’t want to leave the house, but being inside the Physical Cottage wasn’t as pleasant as it used to be. It still felt sort of unreal. Like if he really wanted to, he could control his surroundings, summon and banish things at his will.

Alas, Todd was still here.

And Quentin was not.

Proof that he was in the real world, he supposed.

The real world was fucking awful.

Not that he was _missing_ being possessed. Maybe just a little. The Happy Place had its perks.

As it was, he couldn’t really stand being in the Cottage for extended periods of time, and he was just about reaching his limit.

He waited until Margo wasn’t looking to slip out.

He loved her, he truly, truly did, but Margo had been a little much lately. She’d been hovering over him, saying things and then quickly apologizing like he might take it the wrong way, staring at him _intently_ like if she just kept a good enough eye on him, he’d be alright. He loved her. He knew she was just worried because she loved him, too.

But the fact of the matter was that this wasn’t fixable. And she wasn’t going to be able to help.

No one could help. It was too late for any of that. It was too late for anything.

Such was life. Sometimes, the worst case scenario happened and you just had to live with it.

 _How_ to live with it was another question entirely.

Eliot was still sorting through that one.

The air outside was brisk. It had been on the colder side, which Eliot found poetically appropriate. The warmth was gone, et cetera, et cetera. He wasn’t expected a thaw anytime soon.

He leaned against the side of the house, letting out a breath of almost-relief.

He pulled out two cigarettes, putting one between his teeth and tucking the other behind his ear.

He flicked his fingers to get a magic spark.

“Hey,” he heard a voice say, soft footsteps approaching him.

“Oh,” Eliot said, somewhat startled as he turned. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “Well, I _was_ invited.”

Eliot hummed in agreement and offered his pack to her.

Julia shook her head looking down. “I, um. I quit.”

“Oh. Right.” He tucked it back into his pocket, wishing he had a better grasp on how to interact with people. It was harder as of late. Perhaps it had something to do with the months he’d spent not speaking to anyone real. Or maybe it had more to do with the overwhelming, suffocating grief. 

She cleared her throat, settling beside him.

_Oh. So this is going to be a whole thing, not just a casual greeting._

Eliot took a drag from his cigarette, noticing how the filter had gotten slightly crushed between his teeth. Well, it was fine. Whatever. Hardly something to be bothered by at this point.

“How have your classes been going?” she asked lightly.

“Stellar,” he replied, and he winced a little at his own tone. He didn’t _mean_ to be cold and sardonic and aloof. It was just sort of a thing that was happening these days. He cleared his throat, looking down. “How about yours?”

“Oh, about the same,” she said.

He gave her a sidelong glance, registering the bitterness coating her voice.

She turned to him, a cold smile twisted on her face. “I got my magic back, did you hear?”

“Hm. I did. Penny gave us the good news.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“Wicker, that’s quite the tone you’ve got there.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, well.”

“I, um,” he started, furrowing his brow. “Well. I’m sorry. About what happened.”

Julia looked away, letting out a short, empty laugh. “Which part?” she said. It sounded like she was trying to say it in a joking tone, but her voice broke.

“Oh, take your pick, I suppose.”

“I could give you a numbered list.”

“That won’t be necessary. I remember.”

Julia sighed, a long, thin sound. Eliot felt that, too.

“It’s not worth it,” she said.

“Hm?”

“Magic,” she replied. “It’s not worth it. Yeah, whatever, it comes from pain. But if _this_ was what it took, I could’ve done without it.”

“Unfortunate that you didn’t get to pick.” Eliot unscrewed the top of his flask and took a long swig. They were getting too close to talking about _it._ He offered it to her.

She took a sip, handing the flask back quickly when she coughed.

“Anyway, um. Have you seen the first years around? They seem so… I don’t know.”

“Starry-eyed? Giddy? Like life hasn’t beaten the hope out of them? Excited about magic and this school and this world?”

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Julia replied. “They’re still, like. Grad students.”

Eliot hummed, nodding slightly. “Ah, yes. They just get the run-of-the-mill anxiety and depression. Lucky them.”

“I remember that. It seemed so overwhelming at the time.”

“I was never quite at that point.” Eliot took another long drag, watching the ash crumble. He didn’t elaborate. Normal anxieties were never quite his department. His life had always had its own special flavor of unbearable.

“So how are you doing though? I mean. Really.” Her voice was low, strained and scratchy with the effort.

“Fantastic, never better,” Eliot said. He took a drag from his cigarette, watching the smoke swirl in the air. He did a quick tut to turn the smoke into a blooming flower. “Haven’t you heard? Everything is so goddamn _great.”_

“Right,” Julia said, stiffly. She angled away from him, crossing her arms and casting her gaze downward.

Eliot stifled a sigh.

“I feel like I’m underwater, Julia, what do you want me to say?” He tried to say it as kindly as he could, but the bitterness came in and sharpened his tone. Well. He was trying, at least.

“I mean. _That,_ I guess.” She sighed, reaching out a hand. “Okay, I do want a smoke.”

“Thought you said you quit.”

“What are you, my mother? Come on.”

Far be it for Eliot to tell anyone else how to cope. He handed her the pack.

“And how are you?” he said, softly.

She just gestured to the cigarette before doing the tut to light the spark. She took a long drag, closing her eyes.

Eliot pressed the short stub remaining of his own cigarette into the wall and he pulled the second one from behind his ear.

“The way time is passing doesn’t make sense to me anymore,” Julia said. It didn’t quite seem like an answer to the question. “It feels like everything is hurtling forward, you know? Like time is rushing by, because any second that happens now, after… Well, it doesn’t feel like it should be happening at all. It feels wrong that time keeps moving forward.”

“Alas, the world won’t stop because it pities us.”

She let out a short breath. “But also, every day feels like it drags on forever. Like I can barely remember this morning because it feels like it was so long ago. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

Eliot couldn’t really look at her. He knew what she meant.

The world without Quentin was not a world he understood.

He wondered how long they could keep this conversation up without saying his name.

He waved a hand vaguely in the air in front of him. “Yes, here it is. The world we live in now.”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I like it much.”

Eliot just hummed in agreement.

He fucking hated it.

“I grew up with him,” Julia said.

Well, it wasn’t saying Quentin’s _name_ , but it was referring to him semi-directly. So there was that.

Steps forward. People so rarely said Quentin’s name out loud anymore.

“I mean. I barely remember life without him, you know? He was such a big part of my life, I just—”

She cut of with a sigh and a scowl. More like she was frustrated with the situation. Eliot could relate.

“Fifty years,” he said. He took a drag of his cigarette. His hand was trembling. “Fifty years of memories. Not a single one without him. I died first in that life.”

She nodded like she understood. So Quentin _had_ told her about the Mosaic.

Eliot was never sure how much anyone knew. He never talked about it, and Quentin certainly didn’t bring it up to _him,_ not after what happened, so…

“You know, I’m not even _doing_ anything,” Julia said. Her voice was lowered, as though there were a chance someone might hear them over the music. “I just. I’m going through the motions, I guess. I can’t _do_ anything.”

“Yes, everything is an ordeal,” Eliot replied. He sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall a little too heavily. “I don’t know about you, but I feel pretty fucking useless lately.”

“Yeah,” Julia replied. She let out what could almost be a laugh, if you squinted enough. “Me too.”

“Sometimes, I hate him for it,” Eliot admitted. “Honestly. Fuck him for dying.”

Julia looked at him, seeming surprised.

Eliot shrugged, half a smile on his face.

“What? Should I say something kind about how he was brave and how he saved the rest of us, and how we should all be thankful for what he did?”

“It’s what everyone else says,” Julia replied, slowly and carefully. Like she didn’t believe it either. 

“Well. You know what? I’m _not_ grateful for what he did. It was reckless, and it was short-sighted, and if he wasn’t _dead,_ I would get to be furious at him.” Eliot dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his heel. His hands itched to get another one, trembling slightly with the useless anger of it all. “So here I am, being furious at him anyway.”

Eliot scoffed, shaking his head. The anger was a cold, icy feeling. He felt catatonic with the rage. How was he supposed to do anything when he was so _fucking_ angry?

“It was stupid. And if he were _here_ , I’d tell him that.”

“Quentin should’ve known better,” Julia said with tentative agreement.

Eliot took a shaky breath. There it was. His name. Out loud, hovering in the air, just there in front of him. A sound he didn’t hear anymore, a shape his mouth could hardly be forced to make.

“I think he _did_ know better,” Eliot replied, closing his eyes tightly. “Quentin… Quentin tried to sacrifice himself at Blackspire. Tried to be the one to stay with the Monster forever. It was just that no one was there to stop him from playing martyr this time.”

Eliot opened his eyes again, but the world hadn’t changed. No miracles here.

A long silence stretched between them, and he heard Julia breath catch a few times. She curled down a little, her hair falling towards her face.

“Maybe _I_ shouldn’t known better,” she said, her arms wrapping around herself like she was cold.

If Eliot knew how, he might’ve tried to really comfort her. Put an arm around her, say something soothing, et cetera. He wanted to. He wished anyone could say _anything_ that might soften any part of this.

Alas. Such was life. Worst case scenarios and all that.

“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” Eliot sighed. He tucked his flask into his pocket. “We all have excellent hindsight, don’t we?”

Julia looked up at him, eyes glassy but dry.

Eliot understood. He hadn’t been able to cry since the memorial. Even if he was collapsed, shoulders hunched and shaking, thoughts of Quentin’s smile and laugh in his mind, no tears would come.

Any tears would be inadequate anyway.

He tried to smile, tucking her hair back behind her ear like he would’ve done if she were Quentin.

“I think it’s safe to say we all fucked up somewhere along the line,” he said, as gently as he could manage, as he was filled with his own guilt and self-loathing.

It was, truly and honestly, the best he could do.

He turned away, walking back towards the party.


End file.
